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Hearting R.B.G.

(x = space)

x

Hearting R.B.G.

x

Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Has died

And we should be sad

Not clawing over each other

Rending into politics

For her replacement

On the bench

She died

At the end of the last year

It being Rosh Hashanah

Now

x

The thing that lurks

In the swamps of Washington, D.C.

Has not praised her

As much as it

Can only praise itself

Older, white, male, fat, ugly

She was slender and knew

How

To live her age

And beyond her age

x

A person for the ages

And for agelessness

x

I hope for the court in heaven

She is excused

Having served already

An eternity on Earth for

All pre-heaven people,

Though God and she could

Talk about

All the thorny cases

Here on Earth

Two old, wise, strong, gentle souls

Who understand

Each day’s re-creation of

Love, justice

Love for justice

x

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Casey Clingan on Unsplash

Purvis, United States

This is a shot that I took from my front yard of the Great American Eclipse of 2017.

x

0

I Love George Floyd

I Love George Floyd

(so do you)

 

We can’t stand it, can we?

The deaths of blacks

The killers, whites

There was peaceful protest

Look here and there,

It’s still there

Can you imagine the press on

Minneapolis and Washington

From a peaceful surge of

Millions?

But we can’t trust the

Leadership and institutions,

Which is why the world

Was set on fire

Before

Who are the thugs? we wonder

Who wants real change?

Who simply wants to burn things down,

If not on assignment?

 

Who is hungry?

Who has no shelter for the night

Or year

Or lifetime?

There is an ad for an N95-looking mask

In designer colors and the words

Below in red, “ONLY $9.95” with an

Exclamation point

 

“We the people,” the governor says

Well, he’s on to something

This is where we live,

Where we want to live

An equality of opportunity,

Who would object?

Some would but not those in need

For having less

Or nothing

And having what there was

Taken away

 

Destruction promises nothing

But less to have, to use

Maybe to share

After the fires, will there be change?

Those who burn will probably

Want to burn again

It becomes a lifestyle

Though addictions can be counseled

And people change, anyway

 

But what do I know

I never burned down anything

I doubt you have, either

And if you have, you might have

A reason you can speak to

Though I’d still say

You shouldn’t have done it

 

But I’m not large enough

My force isn’t large enough

Or my head, my heart to understand

Such things

Such saints will have to be brought on

Who understand

The need

The hurt

The rage

Maybe the opportunity that comes

In masks

And months-long lockdown

I’m not trying to be clever

I think you know I have to say this

 

But he died

And we are left alive

Justice is in heaven

It can’t live there, alone

 

C L Couch

 

 

by Lorie Shaull from Saint Paul, United States – an “Our Hearts Break” sign along 38th St in Minneapolis on Wednesday, after the death of George Floyd on Monday night in Minneapolis, Minnesota, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=90742474

 

13

Regarding the Earthlings’ Case

Regarding the Earthlings’ Case

 

Winter is a freezing time

Up north

Down south, when it’s time

Though there seem to be extremes

Among, inside

The peaks of the Andes

The ice-steppes under which

Somewhere is land

This is Antarctica

Wide colonies of wildlife

I’m not saying we don’t have these

In the north,

But often they are left alone down there,

And a meaning to keep it that way

 

I don’t know,

Eventually the Andes will wear down,

Which is natural

But the shelves around the South Pole

That slip away in parts

The breakage in icebergs

Bigger and bigger

And ill-timed

Don’t you think there might be

An irregular reason for these?

That we, in fact, precipitate all the early

Slides affecting

Millions of square meters?

 

I ask to be polite,

Though there is no courtesy in wreckage

On the Earth

By our fair hands

Become dirt-ridden

(the dishonest kind of dirt)

And plastic

The profit of pollution

While we’ve stopped talking about ozone

And the protections

We are ruining

Until they go elsewhere

Care for another place

While well-received

 

Soon we will need rescue from ourselves

By whom, I also do not know

If there’s a Martian league

Or on blue Venus

Might come over to assist

Then exact a price, because

There must be justice in

The Solar System

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

Andromeda

 

0

Earth-Talk

Earth-Talk

 

The sun is knocking,

Asking to come in

Can you imagine?

The sun, huge and glorious

And powerful, asking

To come in?

But on this pale-gray day, the Earth

Seems to be withholding

Tiny planet, fending off

The sun

 

What is just but to give

The smaller thing its due?

It’s here, too, after all

And what is mercy

But to wait upon

Its waiting?

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Fabian Struwe on Unsplash

 

0

Runnymede

Runnymede

(written by hand in the courthouse)

 

twelve, I think

peers

a jury of my peers

white male

probably I’ll fit

maybe too well

I hope there’s justice

I hope it’s clear

I’m nervous and already bored

there’s a crowd

I don’t like crowds

I have a book

I have this

 

C L Couch

 

 

The Jurors (2015), an art installation at Runnymede sculpted by Hew Locke to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the sealing of Magna Carta.

WyrdLight.com, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41110769

 

0

This is the World

This is the World

The world’s too big, you know;
Even when we stand, too often
Upon others, to shake fists of
Presupposing power, we won’t

Earn a living dot to be perceived

From far away—even, say, from
Worlds known and yet unknown

Is height-to-planet ratio somehow
Universal? On smaller planes or
Habitably larger, are we there

Proportioned in some way so
That our diminishment remains?

And must that make sense to
Have not one of us be tall enough
To overwhelm the rest—and is

This maddening thought or comfort?

Tell the ruler of Babel or the director
Of Auschwitz: they built insanely
High and wide, never valuing

The true size of Earth beyond
Provision of a circular base on
Which to keep the demons’ scale
Tray that they desired to keep
Unbalanced toward their part,

Never mind that justice rode upon
The other side, preparing to upend;

At the last, we are one by one, no
Monument to detect from space

Which has to be enough—we can
Build each other up, thus making
Better, reaching obelisks to scrape

A spiritual sky upon the Earth

 

5

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